Entre un regio y su chopping...

Ni siquiera la narcoviolencia puede con el deseo del regio de ir de chopping al otro lado! Lo comprendo...me esperan al otro lado ciertos artículos esenciales para mi bienestar: un CD del sonido de campanas del viento, un libro de postres de chocolate, un molino manual para alimentos, y una serie de regalos chuscos apropiados para alguien de la cuarta parte de mi edad, cuando menos. Ni modo. No puedo hacer nada porque mi mente se fijó para siempre a la edad de unos 25 años. Por fortuna, no mi intelecto! Pero si necesitas saber dónde hallar un aromatizador para el auto con fragancia a tocino, consúltame a mí! Ja!

Got That Old Feeling, or Just Feeling Old?

A friend confided that he worried not about being old, but about becoming an embittered old man. Another friend said that before he met the woman he now lives with, he used to be a miserable old man, but now he is merely old.

A certain relative, a cultured and highly educated man, is the very epitome of embittered elder-hood, and none of his family has ever quite figured out why. Somehow it seems as if the self-loathing fomented in him by his father, a sarcastic and belittling person, having been staved off for decades, has come back at full gale force; since self-loathing is almost impossible to bear, it usually gets passed along as a kind of free-floating loathing directed at anything and everything. But it's a hell of a way to end up a life--not enjoying one's accomplishments, not cutting oneself some slack if they aren't up there in the super-hero category of feats, not able to just kick back and relish laziness and sloth, no, but sloshing through the acid streams of what one didn't do, didn't say, didn't finish. Or even worse, wondering where that feeling of unbearable disappointment is coming from, being unable to relieve it, watching it eat up the years you wanted for yourself.

What's the cure? For most, there is none.

Evolution

I used to think evolution was a process that meant some sort of biological progess, until I heard Sarah Palin and Christine O'Donnell speak. Okay, I use the word "speak" very, very loosely.

The essence of blogging...

Never have so many said so little to so few. And never have they spelled worse while doing it.

Hazelnut and butter pasta sauce

This is the essence of decadence. Put a stick of butter in a pan over the lowest possible heat, and allow it to heat until it begins to acquire a bit of color; it should smell nutty and delicious. Chop some hazelnuts finely, and turn the heat off the butter. Add the hazelnuts. Stir, add a dash of pepper, pour over your favorite pasta, and top off with parmigiano reggianito.

The mystery resolved at last!

Having just sent a letter from my favorite outfit, Union for Concerned Scientists, to the Hannity crockpot giving him a failing grade in science, it dawned on me why the man cannot understand global warming: in order to think, he has to hold his breath in order not to overload his brain. In the inimitable words of the formidable Jim Hightower, if the man's I.Q. drops another point, we're gonna hafta water him.